


To Whom It May Concern

by yugiohgx



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Cheeky, I dont know it's just an open letter, Implied 2Doc, M/M, Other, cock and balls mention, mention of drugs, murdoc being a salty bitch, not really any archive warnings i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:41:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23636245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yugiohgx/pseuds/yugiohgx
Summary: Murdoc writes an open letter to the public after being arrested at a Pride festival.
Relationships: Murdoc Niccals/Stuart "2D" Pot
Comments: 6
Kudos: 71





	1. Chapter 1

So, I know what you’re thinking. Murdoc Niccals arrested at a pride festival? A bit cheeky, perhaps? Maybe he took his pants off showing everyone at the bloody march what true male excellence looked like? Maybe he started frolickin’ in the street? Maybe he kicked someone in the head for saying something smart? Well, If you want to think that you’re honestly quite welcome to.

However, I’d like to make some things clear:  **if** I were to whip out my magic drumstick I don’t think anyone would’ve been able to do anything besides stare at it. The magnificent schlong, belonging to Murdoc Niccals and none other, would flap about in the air and the police would give me a medal of peace just for having it. 

Frolicking, I would never. I’d rather die than frolic. I think we can all agree that if anyone else in Murdoc Niccals and the Masters of twat (that’s a loving nickname for my band, Gorillaz, if you’re not very bright) had submitted themselves to that fate I’d be the first to give them a right necking. 

I do reserve my right to kick anyone in the head, and perhaps I also did that during the Pride festival of joy. It was only 2D though, so I wouldn’t really call it high priority for the police, or anyone for that sake. 

I bet you’re wondering at this point just what could I have done? Oh, I can see you in my mind’s eye. You’re tearing out your hair, moaning, screaming, telling me: “Please Mr. Niccals, give me my sweet, sweet release. Please Mr. Niccals, I swear, I’ll give you the ripest scag of Tijuana if you just tell me. Please! I’m dying of suspense, I’m shivering in anticipation.” And trust me, it’s coming. It’s coming hard, it’s coming violently. About as violently as a stag embarking on a female deer. Trust me. 

I think I got sidetracked somewhere. Let me get back to it. I am definitely not just trying to stall because I am ashamed. D’ya think the mighty Sir Murdoc Niccals of Stoke-On-Trent would ever be ashamed, scared or terrified? If you do, please stop reading this very important letter and leave me be. I am a rockstar, a God, a man with a gorgeous prick, the one and only, the coolest man alive and if you harbor these thoughts about me then you are nothing but a filthy, filthy scab. 

So, anyway, about the festival. Maybe I was trying to make people cough up some dough, maybe I’d read on the web about people of this predisposition, the gays, as they like to call themselves, liking our band. Maybe i thought that showing up there demanding money to be able to take my “one true love 2D” on a lover’s retreat in Texas, Ohio, was a good idea. Maybe I got a little bit carried away. 

Turns out my scam was... problematic to say the least. See, that’s a word I learnt doing research. When I showed up, in my garb of an ancient roman God, demanding to be payed, everyone there acted like they didn’t know who I was! Dirty liars, they were! I could see that they knew who I was, I mean why wouldn’t they, they just couldn’t be asked to spare 5,000 measly pounds. I mean, who hasn’t got 5,000 pounds lying about? Not me, for sure. 

Maybe I got more and more frantic trying to elicit some response from these marching wankers, not to call all people of the LBTQ community wankers, since I’m proudly a part of it. You heard right! 

Hello there, Murdoc Niccals, a proud “gay”. My publicist told me to write that. Not that it’s not true, I just would’ve liked to keep some things on the DL. But this little conundrum I’ve put myself in has given me not much of a choice. So I guess this letter is my coming out. I, Murdoc Faust Niccals, formerly Murdoc Alphonce Niccals, am a queer, BDSM-loving, artisté genius. There you have it, folks! The big Confession, the truth is out! How does that make you feel? Knowing that my cock and balls is not only open to business for the lovely ladies of this world but also all other types of lovelies that might exist out there. Have I ever done it with a monster? Well, well, well… perhaps I have. But who am I to kiss and tell? 

2D just showed up, read this letter and told me that I have once again very professionally avoided why I was arrested. So, he’s sort of threatening that if I don’t “tell it like it is, yeah?” he’s not gonna give me the bag of speed he's keeping for me.

Where was I? Oh yeah, I was getting a bit frantic. Maybe I was crying a bit. Maybe I was kind of high at the time due to a bet me and my buddy had made. Maybe I was ripping at my hair and the toga I showed up in. You’ll never know, you weren’t there, were you? Anyway, the band showed up and tried to get me to stop pestering the protesters. That’s when I turned on like a lamp on Christmas eve and hit Russel straight in the face. 

I bet you’re thinking at this point that “yeah, that wasn’t so smart, was it?” Well, I was high as a kite on this new brand of speed I’ve been sampling for a buddy down in Liechtenstein, so I really thought I could take on the entire world and some more. He quickly sat on me, he did, so it really didn’t matter. 2D had a bloody nose, as usual, and was talking about how I “always” do this, I “always” endanger the people around me, that rehab worked only “so much”. You know 2D, he goes on and on. But I could also see that he was chatting up some bird by the time the police came around and took me away. Got her number, he did. So I guess he doesn’t really have anything to complain about since he got his prick wet. I do understand that Russel and Noodle would have been a bit peeved at this point, I mean they were trying to record some new music with that bloke who got a bit drunk at the BAFTAs or whatever it was, we’ve all been there. Anyway, the point of this letter is: I’m in the slammer, I need bail and my funds are currently tied up in a little thing I got going with a Norwegian smuggler. So, send some cash, call me up and get me out of here ASAP. 

Signed, 

Murdoc Niccals, bass player extraordinaire, lover of all orifices.


	2. Chapter 2

'ello world, 2D here. I am currently transcribing this letter by my uhh, secretary? Secretary isn’t really the word, innit? What do you call a bird you met at the airport three hours ago who said she was good at the writing and spelling an such. I'm a rockstar not a letterwriter. I asked her not to write all the uhhs and ahhs but I guess she’s kinda ignorin me, being herself. Not that I really know what herself was. I reckon, I’ve been inside her, so I guess I have some insight. Are you really writin that? Bollocks. Could you remove it? No? This is going out to my fans and such. Really? Alright then, fuck it. I guess we’ll keep it in, eh?

Well, uh, back to the current situation. Murdoc isn’t actually in jail. The letter he wrote was a complete lie. He told me he did some acid with uh.. I wrote it down somewhere. Let me find it. This is just like in second grade when I couldn’t find my toad Neville for show and tell. Uh, it’s in here somewhere. Yeah, Uh, okay. I found it. So, he told me “he popped a tab or two with a handsome virologist from Memphis with a dick of gold and a heart of coal.” Coal… or cold? I written it as cold…. 

Anyway, it’s all fake, Murdoc doesn’t really have a publicist since he keeps firing ‘em the first chance he gets, when they walk into the room and such.

I got the lovely task to tell anyone who’s sent him money that he apologizes. He’s not gonna give it back, but uh… he told me he will send a piece of his back hair to anyone who wanted a refund. I guess he mighta been taking the piss. He did give me the bird and told me to fix him off a Smirnoff ice with easy on the moonshine right after it. So, I’m dictating this letter because my actual publicist/fuckbuddy in secret told me that if I didn’t we probably wouldn’t be able to go to Coachella. And he promised me a creme egg and a biscuit. So, uh, here it is. It’s a lie, he’s currently passed out in the kitchen after I dozed the Moonshine with some of his mood stabilizers because otherwise he won't take them and he'll start looking for Russian mail order-brides and stealing pick n mix from the corner shop again.

Now that that’s fixed and all, has anyone seen my blue sweater? I lost it at a concert about five years ago and I’d really like it back. It’s got sequins on the back that says “hot mama.” It was really warm when it was hot and cold when it was cold. It was the little things about it, I did throw up in it the first time I was in Mexico on a bender. That was a pretty good bender it was, met a lot of nice people I did. Talked to Cameron Diaz at a gay club. Or it might’ve been a drag Queen with a blonde wig. I did a lot of qualudes, do you remember when that was still in style? Now it’s nothin but benzos all the way. It's sad really, what the world has come to. There's some sorta thing with getting not as young as you once were, the old world's still there like some sorta old malteser that you left in the freezer that you forgot about and then take a bite off and it's completely rotten all the way. Which is rather strange cause I'm not sure if frozen things can rot. If it's frozen, it at least shouldn't be able to rot, that's my firm belief. And I will not back down from that. 

I reckon that’s it. Thank you. Uh, see yourself out. Stop writing that, I’m not dictating anymore. I’m talking to you. What do you mean get ready for our trip? I didn’t promise you a ride to Bermuda, I said I was shipping off to Bermuda. I learnt it from that show, you know the one. Well sometimes a bloke needs a bit of mystery in his life, you know? Oh you're just sending it out right now without changin anythi-


	3. Chapter 3

HELLO LOVING FANS AND GROUPIES, MURDOC NICCALS HERE ONCE AGAIN. 

I came here just to say that 2D, the singer and absolutely not the frontman of our band gorillaz, is a bloody liar. A filthy liar. A dirty little roach. A piece of gunk between your teeth that just sits there and rots until you find it.

I did not drop acid and lie. I merely dropped acid and bent the truth a bit. Saying that I was lying about being in the slammer is an absolute lie and a total atrocity. I wasnt in an actual jail, I was in a metaphorical one. That's right, folks! Poor murdoc niccals was very aptly trapped in his own mind. Now, usually I love being with myself, I'm my own best mate after all, but because of that damned acid laced with amphetamines I possibly, kind of, most likely, thought I was trapped in a giant whale named edith. 

Now, to the other things 'supposedly' debunked by the vile stuart pot, are all also basically true. I did go to a festival in a garb of our ancient roman gods, but the only thing I did there was give a blowie to one of the lads from peep show. Won't tell you which one but his cock is huge. Not too huge, mind your dirty mind, but pretty big. Oh, right, it wasn't technically a pride festival or parade or whatever, but a music venue in Birmingham. Pretty small, full of mud, amazing speed and beautiful women. Atleast the women looked beautiful after ten complimentary rum and cokes. Not that they wanted me since the letter from 2D was out! How am i supposed to fuck when they're all laughing at me for being 'old' and 'not being able to handle the smallest amount of drugs'. I am amazing at doing drugs and will not accept my righteous name being used in slander. 

The last thing on my little agenda: please send more cash. I'm in a bit of a mess at the moment, and my funds are running so low that not even 2Ds credit cards can pay off my debts. If I dont get any money by wednesday I'm going to have to dissolve the band. So think on that, no money for murdoc and no 2D, Russel or Noodle. Now, obviously I will still be in the band, to collect their royalties and such, but no music will be made. 

these are my demands.

Signed,

Murdoc Niccals  
Cockbiter

ps. also I'd just like to know if anyone can give 2Ds secretary/secret fuckbuddy a ring for me? I thought the way she wrote was pretty alluring and would love to wet my knob in a bird that talks back.


End file.
